


Young Blood

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Angst and Porn, Barebacking, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Extremely Underage, Feminization, Fuckpig, Grooming, Guilt, Lolita, M/M, Manipulation, Moral Bankruptcy, Multi, Nipple Play, Pedophilia, Sibling Incest, Size Difference, Unhealthy Relationships, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 07:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8740840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: Jeffrey Dean Morgan isn't a nice man.(This is set about a year before Fuckpig forms.  Please, please, please God read the warnings.  This won't be for most people.  Jeff is a bad man at best, Brock is 14, and his baby brother Colin is 9.  Please don't read this if you're uncomfortable with extreme underage.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dollylux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/gifts), [Exaggerated_Specificity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exaggerated_Specificity/gifts), [homo_pink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homo_pink/gifts), [hellhoundsprey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/gifts).



“Tell me a secret.”

 There’s no such thing as the dead of winter in New Orleans.  The boy on Jeff’s lap is sheened all over with mosh pit sweat and brand new hormones, all of it mixing with the industrial-grade detergent of his slim fit Prep School polo shirt.

Jeff loves when they wear the uniforms.

Brock Kelly has the huge, wary eyes of a dog that’s been kicked a few too many times.  He blinks down at Jeff, shifts in his lap, dragging the tease of his freshman year weight over Jeff’s cock.  He smiles, tugging up a mouth made for lying and sucking dick.

“Went to a party last night.”

Brock’s grown since the last time Jeff had seen him.  Six months could do wonders to a fourteen-year-old boy, stretch him out to serve up handfuls of new skin for Jeff to sink his hands into.  He slips his palm up under Brock’s shirt, stroking along the lean colt muscle on his back and tucking his fingers into the fitted waistband of his khakis.

“There was this guy, in the basement.”

Brock had shown up at a Rosebud’s show last fall with a gaggle of private school boys looking to sample the shady side of life.  Jeff knows how to look for the ones that are different, the ones who stand an inch away from the crowd even when they’re in the middle of it, the ones who try too hard to fit in, the ones who purse their fat, cocksuck lips like they’re too good for the trailer trash girls they pretend they didn’t grow up with.

“Said he’d suck anyone’s dick.”

“Sounds like my kind of kid.”

Brock had wiled and worked his way out of his mama’s claptrap Irish Channel house and into a full ride to some prissy boarding school.  The kid has a chameleon gift for blending in with the old blood rich boys and new fracking fortune fucks who’d kick his teeth in for the sin of being poor.  With the kind of body old men pay good money for he’d outfitted himself well enough to pass as aloof, the eccentric kind of wealthy when he held his posture right. 

“You let some sweet thing put his mouth on Daddy’s pretty little cock?”

Brock’s well on his way to sporting something impressive between his legs but they’re all small next to Jeff.  That’s not really the part Jeff’s interested in, anyway.

“Made him choke on it, Daddy.”

His accent gets rougher around the edges when he’s in Jeff’s arm, slow and syrupy like the precome leaking greedy out of Jeff’s cock. 

“That’s cute,” Jeff teases, proud on the inside as he grinds his thumb against the eager bulge of Brock’s boydick.  The kid’s gonna grow into a good top, Jeff’ll make sure of that.

“Like it better when you do it, Daddy.”

He’s only had him a little over a year but Brock had fallen in line like a dream.  Just Jeff’s hand on his back is enough to get him tipping his ass up, grinding into it like the heated cats that must scream out back in the wilds behind his mama’s house.

“Tell me a secret.”

Boys that are full of secrets taste the sweetest on the inside.  Jeff’s whole life is lived out loud now but he can remember those early days, that first time he could pour his truth into a set of big, strong arms and a beard-bristled mouth.  This is Brock’s favorite game for a reason.

“Jerked off at school thinking about you, Daddy.”

“That’s my good boy.”

Brock can be exactly what he is here, a white trash good boy who purrs into praise like a trailer park stray.  Jeff bracelets his hand and brings it down so he can feel just how proud his Daddy is.  Brock’s prettyboy eyelashes sweep down, half-drunk on just the promise of Jeff’s cock.

“You don’t have to keep anything from Daddy, do you, sweetheart?”

Brock smiles with his eyes closed, his heart-shaped mouth trembling when Jeff slides his fingers down to brush over his cunt.  That little jewel between his legs has been more than an asshole for a while now.

“Take these off.”

Home-pressed khakis and a crisp embroidered shirt get tucked gently over the back of the ratty green room couch.  Jeff would like them better piled on the floor but he’s not cruel.  While Jeff has worked hard to live in a fantasy of his own making, Brock still has to crawl sore-assed back to reality every time Jeff leaves him.

At least he can shed his skin for a little while.

“Tell me a secret.”

Brock saves the best secrets for last, the schoolyard cruelty that makes Jeff’s perfect bottom bitch the top boy in his class, the acts of violence, the money he extorts from his bloated sugar-suckers (they don’t deserve the name Daddy).  Still in his boots and his filthy jeans and a worn-soft Duff shirt, Jeff pulls his cock free and teases it wetly against the naked, squirming wonder in his lap.

“I kissed my brother.”

Jeff can hear himself swallow in the silence that follows.  Brock’s eyebrows knit together when he looks down at Jeff, as if Jeff could be anything other than pleased.  He lets his smile speak for itself as he leans his head back on the couch, stretching his eyebrow up for more and his arm out for the special-treat bottle of lube rolling around in his duffel bag.

“He got in bed with me the other night.”

Brock’s family isn’t something Jeff had been particularly interested in, beyond the usual assurance that his mama wasn’t gonna come looking for him.  He’s heard vague sketches of Brock’s home life, a father who was better off not coming back, a mama who loved her boys but loved her box of Zin a little more sometimes, some kid brother who seems to be the only other person in the world Brock really cares about.

“He doesn’t like sleeping alone.”

Brock bites his lip as Jeff slicks up those doe-slim fingers.  Brock would probably let his whole class watch as he sinks three of his fingers into his ass before he’d let them see his cinderblock house and some little brother worming into his secondhand clothes.  It’s Brock’s biggest secret, bigger than the dollop of lube Jeff pours into Brock’s waiting palm. 

“What’s his name?”

Brock reaches back to slick grip up Jeff’s cock, arching his lacrosse body into a graceful curve.  He lolls his head to one side as he strokes needy-gentle fingers up and down, jacking Jeff’s dick perfectly and sighing out, “Colin.”

God bless these white trash names.

 “You just kiss him?”

Jeff slides his hand down a hillock of hip, back and around to where Brock’s making short work of opening himself up.  He slips the barest tip of his index finger in next to Brock’s, baring his teeth a little at the dreamheat tightness of him.

“No, Daddy.”

Brock can tease and whore himself out to every rich fuck in town, Jeff’s not gonna lose any sleep over it.  The sweetest fruit is the naked truth of Brock’s whisper, the cherry only Jeff gets to tie around his tongue.

“Tell me.”

Brock’s ready for the Daddyfat head of Jeff’s cock but he still makes that noise, the softer squeal the good boys get.  Jeff sinks home with a new sheen of sweat on his forehead and Brock’s knees digging into his waist.

“He, he liked it.”

Brock’s all bottom-out breathless, hiccupping a little as the dirtiest flower in Jeff’s garden unfurls for him.

 “I like touching him.  I never make him, Daddy, I swear, he just feels so good, he’s so small and cute and he likes it, Daddy, swear.”

“Bet he loves it.”

Jeff chucks him under the chin, keeping his thumb and forefinger hooked firmly onto his jaw to drag him down for a kiss.

“Does he like seeing your big boy cock, baby?”

Brock nods, dragging peachfuzz against Jeff’s three-day scruff.  Jeff pats his ass, barely a slap, just enough to get him moving on his cock.

“He wanted, fuck, Daddy.”

God was kind enough to give Brock perfect teeth under that devil’s mouth.  Brock hisses at the drag of Jeff’s cock, too fat even with lube and whatever c-list D he’s been getting paid for on the side.

“Wanted to suck me off but we couldn’t, unh, couldn’t fit it all the way in his mouth.”

Something in Jeff’s stomach settles, heavy enough to keep him pinned to the couch while Brock fucks himself in practiced rolls of his hips.  Jeff’s seen some shit but he’d wipe half his memories just to see Brock force-fuck his quarterback dick into his brother’s too-small mouth.

“Tried so hard too, had fuckin’ tears in his eyes.”

Brock huffs out through his mouth every time he pulls up on Jeff’s dick, his stomach flexing as he does all the work.  The boys with secrets are always the hungriest for it.

“Rubbed off between his legs, God, he was moaning for it, sounded like he was getting fucked.”

“Noisy just like his big brother,” Jeff teases, thumbing into the cut crease of Brock’s hip and squeezing hard enough to get a puppy noise.  Brock keeps right on fucking himself, pretty cock leaking big brother tears as he arches back like he doesn’t need to get paid for it.

“I wanted to put it in him so bad, Daddy, but he’s not, I don’t-”

Jeff pulls him down with one hand curled around the back of Brock’s neck.

“How old’s your brother, boy?”

Like all the best secrets, Brock whispers this one right into Jeff’s ear.

“He’ll be ten next month.”

Jeff’s dick hasn’t taken him by surprise in a good while but leave it to Brock.  His good boy’s still sighing against his skin when his balls lock up heavy and Jeff comes so hard his own asshole hurts a little bit.  He’d been saving up for Brock, one of the few good babydolls who always get Daddy’s load.  Brocks sinks onto it like the well trained cunt he is, graceful fingers pulling his own ass wide so Jeff can get every drop where it belongs.  It still leaks down onto Jeff’s balls while he’s pumping into him.

He’d use Brock’s mouth to clean it up but he doesn’t want him to stop talking for once.

“Get your dick hard kissing that sweet baby mouth?”

“Yes, yes, Daddy,” Brock moans, his own buttercup mouth as gash red as his swollen dick.  Jeff’s got streaks of boyjuice all over his t-shirt, not like that’s gonna make him wash it any faster.

“Suck his cock, too, Daddy, don’t even get it hard but he just squirms and fuck, Daddy, please.”

Brock’s hands are balled into fists where he’s balancing on Jeff’s thighs.  Jeff’s half-surprised he hasn’t fucked the spunk right out of him but Brock’s got self-control in everything except family matters.

“You think about it, how good his little pussy would feel?”

Brock sobs as his cock disappears in Jeff’s grip.  Even half-hard Jeff can feel his cunt clench up around him, shuddering with each rough stroke of Jeff’s hand.

“Pry him open, pop his little cherry and load him up, baby, that what you think about?”

“ _Daddydaddydaddy_ ,” Brock whines, too close for his SAT vocabulary to help him beg.  He’s loud enough that half the club can probably hear them by now.

“Come for Daddy, sweetheart, come like you’re turning your baby brother’s ass out for the first time.”

Jeff is definitely not washing this shirt for a while.  Brock blows his tear-stained boyload hard enough to dampen Jeff’s collar.  His pussy squeezes extra creamy, hard enough to push Jeff out along with a fat wad of come that lands on Jeff’s boots.  He’ll save that special for the boys waiting outside.

There’s good use for bad boys, the kind of willful things Jeff can break over his knee and grind into a simpering mess under his boot.  All his boys are special in their own way but there’s an itch that only a good boy curled up in his arms can scratch.

“I told him about you, Daddy.”

The first time Jeff had pulled him backstage, Brock’s first plea hadn’t been for a kiss or Jeff’s cock inside him.  The steely, doe-eyed thing had just nuzzled under Jeff’s arm like he could drown in it.  There’d always been something extra-special about Brock.

“Thought I was your dirty little secret,” Jeff nuzzles into a mass of hair that’s rarely this wild.  There’s barely room for them on the couch but Jeff manages to slink Brock’s fucked out stretch of body next to his, tucked into his side and huffing into the sweat-soaked underarm of Jeff’s shirt.

Jeff screams and kicks his way through most of life without losing his equilibrium.  The well of peace he can get from a boneless, naked boy curled on his chest and kissing into his armpit is a balm that never leaves him 

“Told him what we do, how good it feels.”

The pad of Jeff’s thumb fits perfectly into the little divot between Brock’s collarbones.  He presses, gently, until Brock’s big Hera eyes blink up at him.

“I want to take care of him the way you take care of me, Daddy.”

He doesn’t always kiss them.  That was one of Mike’s things, saving the kiss for last, after you’d wrung every drop you could out of them.  The tender touches are the ones they should work hardest for, the little gestures that hover closest to the light of respectability. 

“I’ll teach you.”

Brock always tastes like toothpaste. 

“He wants to meet you.”

Jeff’s stomach bottoms out again, because if he’s learned one thing it’s that there’s always a little lower you can sink.  Brock’s got that glint in his eyes, a drop of challenge where the rest of him is kitten soft against Jeff’s sinful breast.

“Mama’s workin’ overnight at the bar tomorrow.”

Jeff’s got the devil’s own child in his arms and he’s lifetimes past resisting.  Brock’s lips are brimstone warm against his neck, brushing angelsoft and a little cruel at the corners.  He likes tempting as much as he likes being taken.  Jeff’ll make a mean motherfucker out of him before he’s old enough to buy his own smokes.

“I’ll be there, sweetheart.”

Jeff hasn’t met a limit he won’t toe across since the 90s.  He can read the bedtime story and be the monster at the end of the book all at once.

“Let Daddy clean you up before you get on back home.”

~

There was a time when Jeff would have felt bad about this.

Like so many of the best decisions Jeff’s made in his adult life, his teenage skin would have crawled right off him at the thought of this.  Jeff flicks his zippo open and suck-kisses the end of a cheap Dominican cigar.  It’s not the kind of smoke he savors, one of the good ones he lights when he’s making merry with some loose lipped, tight assed college boys.  This is a ritual, a scent memory of empty boarding school football fields and the backseat of Mike’s car.  Jeff runs a stream of smoke out his nostrils and watches it curl off into the barely-there light of Brock’s run-down street.

Might as well go into sin smelling like the devil.

Subtlety’s for nice neighborhoods and northern towns.  Swamp air makes his jacket cling like a cockhungry fratboy and he’s sweating in his boots but Jeff’s committed.  He’s a performer at heart and looking the part is half the fun.  The big bad wolf doesn’t wear fucking sneakers.

A fat shock of ash falls to the cracked pavement.  They don’t really have sidewalks out here so much as strips where the weeds meet a little more resistance.  They won’t be able to keep Brock from springing his way out of here much longer.  Jeff toes at a sprig of something green trying to break free and grins around the fatty in his mouth.

Brock’s house is exactly as shitty as he’d expected.  Barely cleared vines cover it like the earth herself is trying to reclaim it out of shame.  A porch that even a mongrel wouldn’t live under is littered with festering lounge chairs and no small number of empties.  Jeff nurses a spike of unfounded jealousy, picturing some wifebeater stepdad draining another can of Hi Life and running bloodshot eyes all over Brock and his baby brother.  He doesn’t even know what Colin looks like and he’s nursing half a chub himself at the thought of shirtless summers and a garden hose sprinkler.

Little Colin’s not a Kelly, he knows that much.  Different last names ‘cause that’s how white trash rolls.  Putting a half in the brothers part doesn’t make it any less delicious.  Jeff stubs his cigar out on the side of a half-rusted Oldsmobile that hasn’t seen wheels since Jeff was still bothering to check if they were eighteen.

The screen door opens with more squeal than mesh on it.  Jeff side-eyes the neighbors on either side, shifty-eyed just for the thrill of it.  His old black jeans are tight enough that anyone standing close enough could see he’s half-hard before he even knocks on the door.

Brock answers quick.  He’s shockingly casual in an old tank top and worn gym shorts. Brock rocks up on his toes when he opens the door, letting the slim cut of his hips swing up enough for Jeff to see he’s not the only one who’s been waiting with more than a little anticipation.

“Hi, Daddy.”

Some things never get old.  Jeff’s seen and done shit he didn’t think was physically possible and probably violated the Geneva Convention, but Brock’s shy smile as Jeff closes the door behind him thrills him as much as his first taste of good-boy pussy. 

What used to be an overhead fixture is just a bulb now.  It doesn’t make the walls look any cleaner.  After hanging his jacket on a time-stained hook, Brock leads him past what could generously be called a foyer even if it’s really just a hallway full of old shit.  It spills into a living room with peeling linoleum and a rug the sixties wouldn’t want back. 

Jeff spends the better part of a year living out of a van and the place still smells a little musty to him.  No wonder Brock loves being someone else.

The kitchen’s attached with one of those half-wall dividers meant for passing fresh-cooked meals from aproned homemakers.  Brock disappears into it and re-emerges with a glass of water clinking with exactly three ice cubes, a detail Jeff didn’t really give a shit about but made sure all his boys memorized.  Details are important.

“Be right back.”

Brock’s less brave here, wilting a little in his lavish squalor.  Jeff catches him before he turns, cupping Brock’s chin and kind of wishing he’d worn the gloves.  Details. 

“Missed you, boy.”

It usually takes a dick to get that flush on Brock’s cheeks.  His smile has a little bit of lip between his teeth as he turns into Jeff’s hand.  He kisses Jeff’s palm, eyes closed, and it’s a miracle Jeff doesn’t slip his fingers into Brock’s mouth right there.

“Gonna get him.”

Anticipation is a virtue Jeff’s learned to love with age.  He’s always ready to fuck, it’s pretty much his default from the second he wakes up, but sometimes.  Sometimes it’s the not-fucking that’s better, the strain of his cock against his jeans as he saunters over to the ratty L-shaped sofa.  He sinks down into long-dead springs and spreads his arms and, fuck it, his legs wide.  He sips his three-cube ice water and plucks at a genuine piece of duct tape struggling to keep the stuffing inside a worn arm.  They’re both fit to burst.

Jeff’s got ice against his lips when Brock steps back into the living room.  Trailing behind him is the kind of kid that made Jeff want to slit his wrists when he was younger. 

“Say hi, Colin.”

“Hey.”

He’s stuck to Brock’s side, hovering under an arm and smiling shyly under a shag of dishwater hair.  Even now Jeff burns a little, feeling that old self-loathing skin prickle as he slides his eyes up and down every inch of baby sweetness.  Colin’s fair where Brock’s dark, big blue eyes like a hentai centerfold and a cupid’s bow mouth the color of stolen candy.  He’s that kid-mix of thin and pudgy, lanky in his arms and legs but still soft in the center.  Jeff can just see the faded Mickey Mouse cartoon on his t-shirt, hanging loose over a curve of belly begging for kisses and big brother icing.  His hands fidget with the frayed hem and Jeff’s cock jolts a little with the sure knowledge that his slim little hand could fit up Brock’s cunt with minimal effort.  That’d be something new.

“Nice to meet you, Colin.”

Jeff could sit up straight, adjust his fat cock to something approaching acceptable, offer to take them all to McDonalds or some shit like that.  Jeff could leave right now and salvage some shred of decency still buried deep inside him, some scrap of himself that didn’t die before he had gray at his temples and deadboy scars on his heart.

Brock’s hand slides down Colin’s back and around his tiny waist, spidering his fingers into worn cotton.  He rucks it up enough that Jeff can see the color banded hem of Colin’s Walmart tighty whities. 

Jeff’s hand cups over his dick as he smiles his biggest scoutleader grin.

“Brock’s been tellin’ me all about you.”

Colin follows in Brock’s wake as he curls up on the couch.  Brock tucks into Jeff’s arm under Colin’s wary eye.  Half of Colin’s arm disappears between the couch cushions as he snakes himself just close enough, bare little feet tucking under Brock’s thighs.  He’s close enough for Jeff to touch but he won’t, can’t.  He still squeezes his dick a little as Colin fiddles with his shirt and blinks up at him.

“So you’re Brock’s friend?”

“Yeah, Brock and I are real good friends.”

Brock’s smile is more open here, not the usual half-smarm he’s wearing until Jeff gets him lax on a few fingers and some lube if he’s feeling generous. 

“Told you,” Brock rolls his eyes, more teenage than ever.

“Jeff and I fuck around.”

It’s telling that Colin barely bats an eye. 

“I know.”

“Seems like I’m not the only one Brock’s fucking around with". 

Colin’s cheeks go ringpop red as his eyes dart over to Brock.

“We’re not supposed to tell anyone.”

Jeff swallows, letting himself savor another secret. 

“It’s ok, Col, Jeff won’t tell anyone.”

Brock leans closer to his brother, one hand gently finding a scuffed knee.

“Scout’s honor,” Jeff can’t resist, holding up the salute and winking at Colin’s fake-mad O of a mouth.

“Jeff’s good at keeping secrets.”

Brock runs his hand up Colin’s thigh, familiar and soft.  Colin’s legs fall open like a dream as he leans back into the couch, eyes going half-mast as Brock rubs up closer to the edge of his little boy briefs.

Some of them are just naturals.

“I think it’s sweet.  Wish I’d had a brother like you when I was little.”

Jeff turns, angling himself for a better view that makes his dick hate him as much as it loves him.

“Show me how you kiss him.”

Brock smiles over his shoulder with a look that would send an army of stepfathers straight to hell.  He snakes out from under Jeff’s arm, licking the lips he must have gotten from his mama.  Colin’s got the same fat quiver where his lower lip pouts out, even prettier with a dash of pink tongue running nervously over it.

“It’s ok,” Brock shushes him, easing his hands onto Colin’s hips until he’s got a lapful of little brother and Jeff can suddenly recall the Lord’s prayer with perfect clarity.  Brock’s slim hips get wrapped up with boysoft colt legs and every inch of Jeff feels too tight.

“You like kissing, right, Colin?”

Brock barely lets him nod his dazed reply before he sweeps a slip of tongue between Colin’s lip, earning him a faltering “Oh” before Colin opens up for him like it’s prom night. 

It’s none of Jeff’s business how long this has been going but it’s long enough that Brock knows exactly what he’s doing.  Colin takes his hundredth kiss like it’s his first, with a soft hum and a rush of breath that makes every hair on Jeff’s neck stand up.  It’s artless, clumsy, smacking lips and greedy swirls of tongue, the measured, husky huff of Colin breathing through his mouth when Brock lets him. 

Brock’s hands sink greedy into Colin’s hips, urging him to wriggle against the fat exclamation point of Brock’s dick.  Brock growls a little, his voice still cracking.  Being the man of the house still doesn’t make him a man, not yet.  He pulls off Colin’s mouth long enough to look over at Jeff, a little pleading under his too-pleased bedroom eyes.

Jeff could probably come with nothing but the featherweight of Colin’s body grinding against his dick right now and he’s just watching.  Brock’s not getting off that easy.  Jeff shakes his head _No_ , smiling tightly at the way Brock’s nostrils flare before he goes back to kissing his little brother.

Jeff presses the heel of his hand against his cock and watches the baby peach of Colin’s ass disappear under Brock’s hands.  He could pick Colin up with one hand, rub his cock against those store brand briefs until they were wet enough to see Colin’s unplucked cherry right through them, push them aside and just. 

He bites his lip hard enough to bring him back to reality.

Jeff’s too close but he’s still just watching.  This would be happening whether he was here or not.  And he’d still be the only dick Brock takes for free.  Brock’s nine kinds of trouble but he deserves a good teacher.

He skates three fingers down Brock’s side, close enough that he could tap his fingernails against Colin’s birdbone chest if he let himself. 

“Take his shirt off.”

Puberty’s a distant nightmare for Jeff but his voice still cracks a little.  Brock tugs his own shirt off before slowly peeling Colin’s mickey ears off. 

That blush runs all the way down to a set of pretty boy tits that make Jeff keenly aware of the taste of his own spit in his mouth.  Baby soft and still a little peaked around the tips, they’re a shade of pink Jeff only jerks off to when he’s really low or really high.

Jeff’s not either of those things right now but his dick still jerks out a lonely teardrop.

“Brock likes getting kissed here a lot.”

Jeff licks his thumb before he drags it over the darker swell of Brock’s nipple. It stiffens a little as Brock sighs _Daddy_ and Colin’s forehead wrinkles together.

“He’s not your Daddy.”

“It’s just pretend, Colin.”

Brock’s eyes are bleed-black as he kisses down Colin’s chest.

“It’s because I take such good care of him.” Jeff smirks and twists a little at the doeskin bud until Brock moans for his Daddy. Can’t have the kid getting too many ideas, not yet.

He’s still got some good years in him.

“Wonder how much like your brother you are, Colin.”

Brock’s sneer is much more becoming around a mouthful of baby boy.

“Oh, he likes it.”

Jeff likes noises.  He has favorites that he plays in his head like old jukebox hits.  Pretty whines from pretty boys and ugly, gut-fucked slurps from raunchy sluts with no dignity, the back-suck of his own cock against a comedump darling, a thwak of spit into an open mouth and the choking gurgle when they try to swallow too soon. 

Colin’s gasp when Brock sucks show-off hard on his nipple ratchets right up that list.

Colin’s ass could fit in one of his hands if he spreads his fingers wide enough.  His little hips jerk, working on instinct to rut against his brother and it makes Jeff even fucking harder wondering just how long this has been going on, how long it took Colin’s body to yearn for this.

Some boys are just born to ride a dick.

The elastic edge of Colin’s underwear bites into his skin just below the crease of his ass.  Jeff watches him circle, thighs gripping up against Brock’s, the muscles in his back flexing and flowing down to that perfect heart of an ass.  Jeff could ruin every inch of those bleach-white briefs, stuff them in the kid’s mouth, fuck him open fast enough to add some tears to the mix before he tugs them back up bruised hips and watches himself soak back out until they’re see-through.

Jeff pops his top button open and bites his lip.

There’re always new shades of pink to discover.  Colin’s tits peak up into fat hills, shiny with Brock’s affection and a trickle of spit down the left one that makes Jeff’s balls do something delightfully painful.  Brock smacks his lips and lets his head loll back against the couch, wincing as Colin rubs square against his dick.

“Wanna see you suck his little dick.”

Brock’s been in charge long enough.  He eases his head into Jeff’s hand, eyes fluttering shut as Jeff tugs at his hair just hard enough.  Colin slides off his lap, cherry mouth breathing hard as Brock tucks him against the ratty arm of the couch.  They both deserve more than this, someplace safe and clean and far away, a better background for the unblemished beauty of Colin’s fever-dream face.

“Told you he’s cute, Daddy.”

Brock slides Colin’s underwear down and Jeff whiplashes from sick with himself to praising God above all at once. 

“You like it when he sucks you there, sweetheart?”

Colin nods, a little frantic as his fingers twists into the seam of the couch and Brock flicks his tongue over the cherub head of his little stiffy.

Jeff was ten the first time his mama caught him with his dick in his hand and one of Aaron Forcheimer’s bodybuilding magazines.  She’d tanned his ass with a kitchen spatula and tossed his thinly-veiled skin mag in the trash.  Jeff doesn’t like to kick too hard at the hornet’s nest of Freudian shit that gets his dick hard but yeah, it probably explains a little.  He always wants the things that hurt.

Jeff had just about figured out what his dick was for by the time he was Colin’s age.  Colin seems to know a thing or two about it too, with his half-bitten fingernails running through Brock’s hair more thankful than pushing.  That’s a dick for Daddy kisses and jewelry with a matching key.  Jeff’s zipper inches down until his fingers brush over the soaked-through cotton of his denim-hued boxers, a color Mike would have called baby-boy blue.  Jeff’s mouth tugs up into a wolf’s grin.

With his mouth still on Colin’s dick Brock slides his shorts down, flashing inch by inch of natural-tan skin and his freeballing barely-fuzzed nuts.  Brock’s olive where Colin’s peach, the kind of skin for beaches and rich men’s poolsides, sun-kissed even in the swamp-dark shame of his ancestral poverty.  He gets it.  Jeff’s a blacker thing than the sun but he wants to tan Brock’s ass all the same.

“Daddy.”

It never sounds bad but Brock begging around a mouthful of Crayola-peach dick with his cunt in the air sure makes Jeff’s lip twitch.

“I got you, darlin’.” 

Maybe Brock wasn’t born this way but he was fucked up long before he wandered into Jeff’s orbit.  Jeff bites his lip and sinks a dry finger into his perfect little monster.  It’s not his fault he’s good at cleaning up other men’s messes.

Jeff shifts a little, easing up onto one knee so he can look down at the line of spit he feeds into Brock’s hole.  It’s flexing already, sighing with memory and practice as it swallows. 

“I’m gonna take good care of your brother tonight, Colin.”

Just saying his name gets Jeff’s neck all porcupiney.  He’s a ghost if he just watches, detached and blameless as Jeff can ever really be if he doesn’t touch.  Colin’s blushed all over with the kind of purity meant for rolled-up hundreds and bent spoons and Jeff doesn’t deserve any of it.  Brock swallows his own spit and whatever peachcream tears Colin’s little boydick can’t weep out yet, an angel’s chorus of secret-wet kisses and juicebox sighs.  They deserve a real father, a nice man with good intentions and a steady income, not Jeff with his hand half-way down his pants as Colin spreads his fourth-grade thighs for this brother. 

“You know how two boys do it, Colin?”

Jeffrey Dean Morgan isn’t a nice man.

“You’re gonna fuck him in the ass.”  Colin says it softly but there’s no doubt in his voice.

“Jesus.”

Baby voices shouldn’t say shit like that and Jeff shouldn’t spring up like a teenager in heat.  He’d watched a barely legal cover model take two fists in his ass last week and that can’t even touch how fucking hard he is right now.  There’s a kind of jaded that just makes the clean things seems dirtier.  He’s a drunk craving a glass of icewater while his liver rots.  Jeff sucks the taste of Brock’s prep-cleaned ass off his finger and sinks three back in with a mean twist of his wrist.

“I want to fuck you in his bed.”

He could bounce Colin on his dick with one hand but Brock’s not much heavier, an easy weight to tug up by the hair.  He keeps his fingers buried in Brock’s giving heat and pulls his slut-arched back closer, letting the boytickle bristles of his beard soak into the wet halo around Brock’s mouth.  His lips smell like spit and nothing else.  Colin’s too babypure to smell like anything but clean.

“Show him what a good boy you are for Daddy.”

Brock just moans, high in his throat as his cunt clenches up around Jeff’s fingers.  He nods, open-mouthed, eyes squeezing shut as Jeff pulls wet fingers back and they all stagger to their feet.

Colin’s flushed red from his chest to the tips of his perfect ears.  The smallest not-even-a-hardon Jeff’s seen in decades bobs between his legs as he trips after Brock, dazed and graceless as a baby deer.  Jeff tucks his cock back into his pants, wincing a little at the familiar pain that’s so, so worth it when Brock opens the door to their shared bedroom.

It’s a fucking bunk bed.

Pavlov’s summer camp jolts reflex-hard through his dick, ghost clenching with all the flowers he’s plucked and bloomed in creaky, too-small bunk beds just like this one. 

“Oh, fuck.”

Jeff braces himself against the door for a moment, letting cheap molding bite into his hand.  Colin’s little body tucks into the far corner of his bottom bunk, legs falling right back open with minimal encouragement from Brock.  Jeff swallows a spike of envy as Brock noses against Colin’s kissed-wet little dick. 

He makes it a few steps across the creaking floor before he falls to his knees like an old hymn.  With his lips sealed around Colin’s cock and both of his barely-there balls Brock looks over at him, letting a line of spit run down his chin to soak into Colin’s sun-bleached Spiderman sheets. Jeff watches the spot soak darker and darker just like the matching stain blooming across Jeff’s boxers. 

He doesn’t waste a second getting his pants down this time.  The zipper bites at his nuts a little as he rucks his jeans down his thighs but that’s fine, he’s not minding a little pain right now.  Anything to keep him from blowing his load before he gets inside something wet.  He palms over his cock, pressing just to feel the edge while Colin acts like he’s not staring.

Brock reaches back and spreads his cunt like a trap Jeff’s happy to fall for.  Jeff digs boy-sticky fingers into his back pocket, fishing for the snap-packet of lube tucked body warm against him.  Brock can take it rougher but not tonight, not when he’s pushing Colin’s legs apart and nosing at his little easter egg nuts.  Jeff can just see the too-pink flash of Colin’s hole as he rips open the lube with his teeth.

“Get that pussy open for me, boy.”

He squirts slick straight into him before sinking his fingers inside, slippery and silky wet against Jeff’s rough hand.  Jeff’s got sweat beading on his forehead and Brock’s still furnace-hot against his skin.

Brock’s made an art of grunting.  He looks over his shoulder, red-lipped and flushed with a face that men empty their bank accounts to see.  His lip dances up into a porn-worthy grimace as he pushes, muscles blooming open around Jeff’s knuckles and he’s lucky he can open quick.  Jeff’s not in the mood to wait much longer.

“Boys don’t have pussies.”

Colin’s voice ticks up at the end like he already knows the answer to his half-question.  He licks his lips as Jeff looks straight into his eyes and finally, fucking finally pulls the throbbing fat length of his cock out.

“Good boys do.”

The bed creaks when Jeff hunches himself onto it, shoulders stooped to fit under the slats of Brock’s top bunk.  A fat line of precome makes a break for the sheets, soaking into the pale-red sprawl of Spiderman’s back.  Jeff braces one hand against Brock’s hip and feeds the head of his cock in faster than he should, savoring the full-body shudder Brock moans out.  Colin’s cornflower eyes are cornfield wide, that mix of sick-scared and turned on that Jeff will chase until his own ignominious death.

“That’s it, boy.”

Jeff forces his cock to the root, his own voice shaking as he sinks past any shaking resistance Brock can offer up.  There are bigger cocks than Jeff’s out there and even if life on the road keeps him running to lean he’s fat where it counts.  He strums his thumb over Brock’s four-knuckle red rim and grunts through his teeth as he pulls Brock back against the Daddy curls around the base of his cock.

“Show him how good Daddy’s dick feels?”

Brock’s hard, sloppy wet at the tip as Jeff pulls him up with an arm across his cub muscled chest and strokes him.  The bed slats press against Jeff’s back, soaking sweat into his old Furs tshirt and sweeping the best kind of claustrophobia over him. 

“Does it hurt?” Colin whispers.

He could drown here.

Colin, Jeff’s peachblossom day dream, his baby-blue flower fairy, his secret state fair fantasy, the carnival real-boy prize he wants to crackerjack open until he gets to the prize at the bottom, Colin’s got his little hand rubbing against his dick as he watches.  This might be as close to in love as Jeff ever gets.

“No,” they both lie, Brock shaking his head and Jeff making the same soft shush noise Mike used to make before they started bleeding. 

“Feels so good, Daddy.”

That’s the truth out of Brock, hiccupped a little as Jeff fucks him hard enough to make the bed squeak each time he slaps into him.  Jeff barely notices the bed above him knocking into his head with each thrust, lost somewhere between the glorious wet sound of his cock sinking into fucked open boycunt and the rising tide of Brock’s cries as Jeff works his fat freshman dick.  It’s not a trick Jeff pulls out often but he can get his boys off real quick when he feels like it.

“Show your little brother how good Daddy takes care of you.”

Jeff’s back will hate him later but he curls just right and hits Brock right where he needs it, fucking the boy jizz right out of him in eager white stripes.  Streaks of it glob onto Colin’s sheets and the last valiant arc lands right on Colin’s thigh.

Jeff’s never wanted to snort a line so badly in his fucking life.

“Clean that up.”

He pushes Brock’s face into Colin’s trembling leg, too close to pretend he’s just watching but Colin looks right at him as Brock flat-tongues against Colin’s skin and licks him clean.  Jeff’s too close but other people’s messes aren’t his fault, either.

“Let me see that little pussy.”

Brock groans right from his guts and pushes Colin’s legs up, too quickly to even pretend he doesn’t want it.  Jeff’s just watching, just a bystander to some other family disaster he didn’t foster.  Colin’s babydoll limp, barely sighing as Brock hikes his thighs up to his chest and goes tongue-first for Colin’s dreamtight little hole.  Colin’s artless, hungry gasp isn’t a new sound to Jeff but it’s still a favorite. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Colin huffs, his chest puffing up and down as he wriggles down onto Brock’s greedy tongue with the same natural ease he’d used rubbing off on his dick.  Born for it like the best ones always are.

Brock’s still skip-clenching around his dick, a minute down from his orgasm even if it feels like a lifetime.  Jeff’s not trying to break any records tonight.  His balls are already snugging up each time they hit Brock’s ass, like any man would stand a chance to hold out when Brock pulls off Colin’s babycunt with a cruel pop of his lips and shows Jeff the too-tiny pink of Jeff’s split-knuckled wet dreams.

Jeff pulls out one last time, pursing his lips to kiss out a hock of spit straight into Brock’s candy gape.  No sense in wasting a wet mouth.

“Pretty little cunt,” Jeff sighs, his life zeroed in on one square inch of tucked-in skin as he fucks Brock apart under him.  It’s nasty, wet and vicious the way Brock can take, the way Colin’s mouthwatering pink won’t take for years. 

“Just…”

Jeff’s off rhythm, shaking the damn bed down to the bolts as he licks the second-hand taste of heaven off Brock’s mouth.  Colin’s fingers brush just above his hole, tentative, shy about it even as his brother’s spit soaks into thigh-splayed pleats of skin.

“Just let Daddy see your pussy, baby, just…”

Colin tugs his little cherry apart and something in Jeff breaks. 

“Oh God, God, God, baby,” Jeff uses the Lord’s name in vain as he gloryholes into Brock’s cunt.  He follows his limp body down, laying the full weight of his chest across Brock’s sweaty back and licking an open-mouthed swipe up Brock’s jaw.  He’s too close, his hair brushing against Colin’s dangling tenderfoot, the baby clean scent of his secret parts choking him as he unloads deep into Brock’s fucked out hole.

Jeff’s taken drugs that don’t have names but he’s never felt quite like this, like his spirit has left his body and completely consumed it all at once.  He cock twitches so hard it hurts, pumping breeder-deep into Brock’s insides, his hands rough enough that Brock’s gonna be hiding bruises for a while. 

“I’m gonna get you out of here, both of you, I’m gonna,” Jeff mumbles, his dick making promises his mouth will cash nonetheless.  He’s got ten bucks in his pocket but he’s got boys with money, favors he can call in and twist out of a dozen stiffs in suits who’ll call men like Jeff a faggot in public and beg for his piss in private.  He kisses over the faint stubble-burn dotting up Brock’s face, sighing as Brock nonsense-mumbles “Yes, Daddy,” to no question in particular.

It’s a mess when Jeff pulls out.  Slips of cream spill down Brock’s thighs, soaking over his balls and swirling into the sheets.  He hopes Brock doesn’t wash them before they go to sleep.

Jeff’s blood is still singing even as reality itches back around him, dragging old claws over his skin as he leans against the corner post of the bed. His cock is filthy-sticky against his boxers and there’s a child staring at him, big eyes blinking and his mouth swallowing silently as Brock rolls over dick-drunk and loose and pulls his brother in for a hug.

Jeff does his best to tuck his dick away, warring with the urge to flee even as his chest sinks like a rock, anchoring him to the ruined sheets as Brock smiles cat-cream slow and satisfied at him.  Brock sits up, wincing a little but still grinning as he tugs Colin half onto his lap.  The kiss he presses to Colin’s cheek is all for Jeff, more tempting for its sweetness than half the filthy shit Jeff’s watched him do.

Colin snuggles back into him, blinking a little sleepy but still achingly aware as he spares a sloe-eyed, lingering glance at Jeff’s dick.  God.  Jeff needs to get out of here, run as fast as he can and drink every liquor store between here and the Mason-Dixon line. 

His cock twitches back to life as Brock whispers in Colin’s ear, tongue flicking out to shudder along the shell of it as Colin nods slowly.  It’s like watching in slow-motion, like feeling someone else’s body bloom hot all over as Colin squares his handspan shoulders at Jeff and closes the tenuous space between them.

“Don’t worry.”

Brock’s voice is hoarse and too, too happy with himself as Colin slowly climbs his way spread-legged onto Jeff’s lap.  He settles over the awkward sprawl of Jeff’s half-off jeans, the peach pit of his ass finding the root of Jeff’s cock and settling into it.  Jeff’s too honest with himself to say he’s enthralled but this must be what it’s like, his lizard-brain holding him stock still while Colin’s warm hands settle around his shoulders.  He ducks his head, lashes sweeping down before he licks his cherry-red lips and kisses Jeff with his mouth open.  A slip of tongue sweeps between Jeff’s trembling lips and he never thought his doom would taste this sweet.  He swallows what’s left of his resistance as Brock crawls up behind Colin, his hand closing gently over Jeff’s and running it across the baby-smooth expanse of Colin’s side.

“It’ll be our secret, Daddy.”

~

Back at the van, Jeff doesn’t realize he’s humming until Tommy wings an empty fifth of Beam at him and tells him to shut the fuck up.

“Just cause you got your dick sucked doesn’t mean the rest of us need to suffer through your doo-wop bullshit.”

Jeff’s not a teenager and he’s not in love but the sky still looks glitter bright above him.  He lurches around to the front of the van, singing a little louder as he plucks a smoke out of his jacket pocket because fuck Tommy.  Jeff may stink like live-action kiddy porn but Tommy’s a fucking dirtbag if Jeff ever met one.

He really should get a new band together.

He sparks up a Camel and hitches one boot up on the fender of the van, letting his hand rub shamelessly over his crotch.  His balls are honest-to-God sore from coming so hard, an ache he hasn’t felt in a long fucking while.  Jeff might have actually been a teenager the last time he shot off that many times in one night.

“I cried a tear, for nobody but you,” Jeff hums around a plume of smoke while he adjusts his nuts.  He’s gotten used to aches.  Sometimes they’re all he has left.

“You want some pizza, old man?  Tommy’s sending his bitch-boy on a run.”

Norman pokes his head around the corner, shoulders hunched under a crime-scene worthy denim vest and a cigarette dangling from his lip like he was born with it there.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Norman shrugs and disappears again.  He’s been on the good side of Jeff’s belt enough times to know when to leave him the fuck alone.  Jeff licks his lips again, letting his tongue run over boyburner stubble.  He isn’t hungry.  Maybe he really can just live on cigarettes and the taste of single-digit asshole in his mouth.

Jeff’s wallet is a slim thing that fits perfectly into the worn square of his back pocket.  Not much cash, an ID that may or may not have his legal name on it, a creased business card from the lawyer he raised from a pup to the happily closeted corporate success he is today.  Just in case. 

Behind a ten that’s still a little curly from the last time one of his boys showed up with some blow is an old photograph.  It’s got the remnants of a scalloped white border left in a few places.  One edge is crackled and half-flaked away, smoothed by too many drunken thumb swipes.  Jeff adds another to the list.

He can’t believe he was ever that young, and he’d done enough living for ten men by the time Otto had taken this picture.  Five of them, arm in arm, not a shirt in sight but enough leather to make a pup tent.  Reedy and Phil are wearing the hats like the old-school motherfuckers they were.  Jules has a cigar between his teeth and his lucky baseball bat leaning against his calf.  Mike’s arm is tight around Jeff’s shoulders, a touch possessive even when Jeff had a boy of his own kneeling under his boot.  All the boys are lined up below them, hands and knees, ass up, eyes down, pretty maids in a row.  Zeke and Pogo and The Hole and Lyle and Reedy’s boy Vern, the sweet black kid the cops beat to death and then no one did shit about it.

Everyone in that picture is dead one way or another.

“I did a bad, bad thing, Daddy.”

Jeff doesn’t let his lips touch the picture.  Mike would have made him wait for his kiss, tucked a hand behind his neck and smiled.  Jeff can almost hear him as he tucks his wallet back into his pocket and palms himself enough to feel one last aching echo.

“Proud of you, son.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Young Blood" by the Coasters. The song Jeff sings is "Teenager in Love" by Dion and the Belmonts.
> 
> There will be more of these three, don't worry.


End file.
